Ultramodern

The Last Burial

A hallowed mood, rare in this hell. This is the last burial at the Graveyard.

The Dead begin to gather into the garage, which has, hurriedly and haphazardly been draped with ritual. There have been many of these burials, where in the dead finally rest. But this is the last. Tonight, The Dead leave.

“Where are you going?” asked Banshee to Javik.

“I didn’t think…” Javik replied.

“Get in there.” Banshee commanded. Javik still looked hesitant.

“In Detroit, both friends and enemies form quickly.” Revenant stated as he began to walk in. “You are certainly invited.” Javik went inside and stood near Revenant. Ghost, not knowing, began speaking, but was quickly silenced. Even Washer, with cigar in mouth and gun in hand, stood patiently and somber.

Two bodies lie, upheld by car lifts, now coffins, a discarded wrench on the ground, a remnant of haste. On the body of Shadow: a journal, filled with letters. His sniper rifle. A picture of a woman near his heart. On the body of Specter: A two way radio. His binoculars. A grieving woman on his arm. She detaches as Reaper appears. He begins to speak.

“You all know I’m not really into these rituals, so I’ll save all the theatrics for Banshee. These two were good men…but they died long ago. That’s the deal. So let’s not mourn those so long fallen, but rather remember the spirit that lingered on.”

Reaper moves back as Banshee moves to speak.

“Tonight, we lay to rest our fallen comrades. Their journeys long, and unfinished, carried on by those who remain. Tonight, we remember. Every night.” A brief pause. “I’ve often been asked, why we are The Dead. Why we masquerade with other names. Why we claim no pulse. I try to explain. We discarded our lives somewhere out there. This world, we have no use for, no claim to. I try to explain that we died long ago. What walks here are remnants. Unfinished business. Restless legs. No hopes, no dreams. But still longing. Still wanting. Still here.

“Shadow wasn’t the most popular guy here. He was quiet, inward. He brought an incredible amount of baggage and the ability to cause hurt from very far away. He was a warrior, above all else. It was what he was best at. He hated that more than anything else, but he used it, to protect us all until the moment he died. His was a quiet struggle that is no more.

”text-indent:20px;">"Specter, on the other hand, couldn’t shut up. He was cockier, he was brash… let’s face it, he was awesome. I remember him telling me about his first date with Umbra. They went free running on the roofs downtown. She challenged him to race over the bridge to Canada, but settled on the Wall. Umbra won, but Specter claimed he let her. They became a team. A unit. They could see heaven if they tried hard enough. They could find hell if we asked. Now that unit is broken. It seems sad, but you must realize… it was the closest he had ever been to feeling alive. It was resurrection of a man who never considered himself capable of life. He had died, then lived. Now, rests again. He was given respite. Umbra, too. When you think of him, remember that. You and he were given each other in death. Now he rests, waiting for you, asking you to take your time. He will wait forever.

"Jago Pike and Marcelino Ventura. These are The Dead laid to rest. Those who finally achieved serenity, those whose spirits now sleep.” Banshee leaves the room, and after a few minutes of silence, others begin to leave as well, packing their things and getting ready to leave the Graveyard behind. Lastly, only Umbra remains. She thinks, just for a moment, that she should stay by his side until Black Scar come to reunite them. But he wouldn’t want that. He would want her to run, like silvery fish under the moon, just beneath the surface of water. Like a scorching blaze screaming across the plains. Like he knows she can.